


Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits

by vodkaanddebauchery



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bad Haircuts, Donuts, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Movie, a little bit of teacher/student roleplay if you squint, actual husbands, they still got It, whatever it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkaanddebauchery/pseuds/vodkaanddebauchery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You look," Hermann says after an indelicate pause, "like an infant."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shave and a Haircut, Two Bits

**Author's Note:**

> In keeping with my tradition of being fashionably late to fandom contributions, I humbly offer you some pointless Awkward Science Husbands fluff.  
> (We've all suffered through the misery that is the person we love most getting an awful haircut.)  
> In my mind they both have pretty cushy teaching positions after they helped to cancel the apocalypse; in this fic they've been married for about two years  
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes and hipster-lampoonings are mine. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and leaving kudos/comments, if you are feeling so inclined. I appreciate each and every one. ♥

To his credit, Hermann doesn't do a double take. Not exactly. 

In the bathroom mirror, Newt watches him go from 'Newton get out of the bathroom I have to piss and I'm not doing it with you in here' to 'Newton what the seven bleeding levels of hell have you done,' and thinks it's a fair indication of how great their lives are going that he's been seeing more of the former than the latter in the past three years. 

"You look," Hermann says after an indelicate pause, "like an infant."

Newt puts the safety razor down and grins at him through the mirror, can see in the reflection how the tips of his ears go vaguely pink. 

"Why do you look like an infant," Hermann says baldly. Newt finally turns around, a hand running through his too-short hair without so much as a by-your-leave from his active brain functions.  
"They cut my hair too short," he says, because they did. Hermann snorts. "Yeah, I know, stating the obvious, but I think we can both blame this on the university, because _without_ the snide comments about professionalism and the dean giving me the stinkeye every time she sees me at faculty meetings I wouldn't have considered getting it cut in the first place -"  
Hermann mumbles something and that effectively derails Newt's barreling train of hyperthought. "What was that?"  
"I said it was getting a bit," Hermann makes a vague, one-handed gesture. "Bushy."  
"What, I can't believe you, you didn't say anything - no, you're right, I would have gotten pissed if you did, thank you for not saying anything -"  
Hermann raises his eyebrows and the expression manages to make Newt want to break his face with both his fists and his lips. Yep, Dr. Gottlieb still has It. He clears his throat, distracted by the quirk of Hermann's brow. 

"Anyway, so it's Dean Mangold's fault to begin with," Newt grouses, "so I went to get it cut and went somewhere new that's _nothing_ like the old place where I used to go before we moved here, and the guy cutting my hair started talking on and on and on about his band, and I don't know what post-industrial crunk core is, Hermann, and I never want to find out because that dude was _not a rock star_. And he was so wrapped up in telling me how he _is_ a rockstar that he just kept going and going and by the time I was able to get a word in I looked like Ryan Reynolds except, you know. I'm maybe less funny looking depending on the light."

Hermann's eyebrows are still hovering somewhere near his unchanging hairline. Newt never thought he'd envy the unwavering side part until his own hair was all but buzzed off. The Gottlieb side part was a permanent fixture, a stanchion of predictability that would not move for heaven, hell, nor Kaiju strike. 

"Anyway," Newt says, rubbing a hand over his freshly-shaven chin and resisting the urge to _ooh_ and _ahh_ because he can't remember the last time he didn't hear the scrape of stubble, "A few strategic passes with the razor were necessary because short on top and scruffy on the bottom isn't a good look for me, and then I just decided fuck it, I'll keep shaving until I decide itching like a mother is worth growing it back in."  
"And that's why," Hermann says, for clarity's sake. Three years since they've been in each other's heads, since the apocalypse was cancelled, and he's still not so great with the words. "That's why you look - god above, Newton, you look like a Catholic schoolboy."

"Thanks, dude, you talk a lot of shit for a guy who pointed out he most definitely did not have a bowl cut the first time I met him." He feels the corner of his mouth quirk at the memory. The way Hermann had risen to the bait, almost puce with barely stifled rage, makes it a fond one. "Also I'd like to know about the last Catholic schoolboy you met with these." Newt flexes a bicep, and does that thing where he tries to flex his abdominals so the ink ripples like the Kaiju's moving just beneath his skin, but his stomach just jiggles a little embarrassingly. Rationing officially ended six months ago, and yeah, Newton maybe missed things like chocolate donuts made with real chocolate and jelly donuts made with real jelly, even those dumb Boston cream pie donuts so sugary they make his back teeth want to curl up and scream uncle. He makes a mental note to find a gym, or he would if he knew he wouldn't give up two weeks in when he could just be vigorously burning calories at home with Hermann.

Speaking of Hermann, the tips of his ears are pink again as Newt has been flexing with all the muscle definition of a baby platypus. Two dots of color have risen high on his sharp cheeks. "So, uhh," Newt says, dropping his arms and snagging his worn MIT t-shirt from where he'd draped it over the towel rack before shaving. "Do you like it?"  
"I can hear them at the university functions now," Hermann says dryly. "'There goes Dr. Gottlieb, pride of our theoretical mathematics division, but where is his husband? He seems to have replaced Dr. Geiszler with an undergrad bearing a tragic haircut.'"  
"Asshole, I am at _least_ a grad student with these sleeves."  
"You've looked in the mirror," Hermann says. "I know you've seen yourself. That haircut restores you to youth and I feel I should be very, very much afraid."  
"I'm almost as old as -" Newt cuts off abruptly, and just stares at Hermann, who grows visibly uncomfortable under his gaze. "Wait a second, you _like_ imagining grad student me, ohMYGOD YOU ARE INTO IT," and it's like every single eureka moment he's had in a lab, only it's maybe a little sexier and doesn't involve quite as much being up to his elbows in viscera. 

Hermann just goes increasingly redder. There's a little twist to his mouth that Newt knows very well means he will not admit it, not on pain of death. "Don't even pretend you'd deny it, turn around, let me see your neck," Newt says all in a rush. Hermann is still a stubborn little shit and maintains that everything but numbers lie, but that's not entirely true, is it, not when his biology tells the truth for him in endearing blushes reaching the back of his neck and pitched heart rates. 

"Newton, don't be ridiculous," Hermann snaps, shuffling aside. "I've needed the toilet for the past ten minutes while you've nattered on and on and, with my hand to god, I will shave what's left of your hair while you sleep if you don't move to let me piss and shower right now."  
"There it is, we're a matching set, juvenile pranks means we're -" Newt's laughing, half expecting the smack of Hermann's cane somewhere on his person because he's not leaving their tiny bathroom fast enough, but instead Hermann's grabbing the hem of his t-shirt and yanking him forward, sealing their mouths together in a very firm, decisive kiss. 

"Wanna talk about my lab grades when you're done, Doctor Gottlieb?" He asks cheekily when they've broken apart, and even three years later he never fails to get a thrill watching the color spread across Hermann's face, eyes going dark and deep with want.  
"Get in bed, you incorrigible bastard," Hermann says, kissing him again before pushing him out of the bathroom before he can get too distracted. "And don't get started without me." 

Newt guesses he's still got It, too. 

 

~**~   
 _Addendum_

"Babe."  
"Mmm? Don't call me that."  
"Wanna know the worst fucking thing about getting this haircut?"  
"Not especially, but I know you're going to tell me regardless."  
"The post-industrial crunk core asshole had a Kaiju tattoo." 

Newt lets that sink in in the quiet darkness of their bedroom, feeling Hermann breathing beside him underneath the duvet, before adding, "He showed me his as soon as he saw my sleeves. It was a caricature of the foam suit one on that Japanese game show, back in '22. He said his was," he pauses for dramatic effect, " _ironic_."  
"This is what we've come to," Hermann says. "The future is enough to make you yearn for the good old days."  
"Nah," Newt says, rolling over. "I may have a shitty haircut given to me by a douchebag but I get to fall asleep with my hubbie and buy a box of fresh donuts in the morning. Worth it."  
"Don't call me that, either." Hermann's voice is weighted down with sleep. He lets Newt cuddle when his voice is like this. "But if you could be a love and get me a maple bar and a chocolate cruller in the morning, I'd not object too much."


End file.
